


Strawberry Swing

by ScytheTheHero



Category: Signs (2002)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Canonical Character Death, Christianity, Crisis of Faith, Domestic Violence, F/M, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Smut, Queer Character, Sexual Confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScytheTheHero/pseuds/ScytheTheHero
Summary: Merrill Hess has always liked girls, that was easy. But, Lionel Prichard just painted his nails and that was intriguing. "Signs" (2002) AU, where Merrill has a better backstory than just baseball.
Relationships: Graham Hess/Colleen Hess, Merrill Hess/Lionel Prichard
Kudos: 2





	Strawberry Swing

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Signs for the first time yesterday and I needed to write y'all.
> 
> TW: gaybashing, homophobia (internal and otherwise), unhealthy relationship, not smut but close

Merrill had never doubted his faith in God at all, just doubted God's feelings towards him. There were hardships and trials, but it was easy for him to see signs and miracles. As he sobbed into Graham’s shoulder, clutching their family in relief, he realized this was another one of those signs. A sign that perhaps God wasn’t punishing him after all… 

***

_It began_ , Merrill thinks, _in the 9th grade._ 9th grade might have been an awkward, hormone-filled mess for some people, but for Merrill Hess, it’s smooth sailing. He plays baseball on the varsity team at the high school, he had gotten Sara Welch to agree to be his homecoming date, and he had finally brought his grades back up in math. Of course, there was still some tension at home with his dead mother and his terrible father, but he had his brother and he had school. Life was easy.

Lionel Prichard, on the other hand, was not experiencing smooth sails. Lionel was flunking every class except English, he had gotten caught smoking at school so he wasn’t allowed at homecoming, and on that Friday in October, he had made a fundamental mistake. See, Lionel got picked on pretty often, but nothing over-the-top, nothing physical; but on Thursday night, Lionel decided to express himself by painting his fingernails black. Now, in somewhere like New York, people might not care, but they were in Doylestown, Pennsylvania: a small town with even smaller minds.

Merrill didn’t usually run into Lionel. They had been friends in elementary school, but then Mom died and things didn’t stay the same ( _parents, even ones as neglectful as Lionel’s, stopped letting kids go over to the Hess house - no one wants a drinking dad on babysitting duty_ ). Today though, Jessica Hansley had gotten a nosebleed from Hell and he had been tasked with taking her to the nurse. He was taking his time on the walk back when he _literally_ ran into Lionel. 

“Oh shit, sorry-”

“Fuck, my bad-”

And they both stop and look at each other, laughing just a bit. And it’s nice, for a moment, to share a laugh with an old friend. And then Lionel brings his hand up to brush his hair behind his ear and Merrill’s mouth goes dry. _Lionel is wearing nail polish_ , he thinks, _why do I care_? If Merrill had more skills in impulse control, this encounter would have gone very differently, but as his eventual strike-out record proves, those skills are lacking. Merrill grabbed one of Lionel’s hands and brought it up to look at, causing another laugh to spill out of Lionel. “Like them? Good enough for Sid Vicious, good enough for me.” His hand is soft in Merrill’s, the nails are trimmed neatly, even if the polish is a little sloppy on the edges. 

“Well,” and Merrill’s voice breaks and he thinks of death abstractly, “if you ever want some help putting it on, I guess I could come over.” And even as he says it, Merrill wonders why he did. It had been years since they had been anything more than a nod in the hallway, but as he gazes at Lionel’s cheeks and their ever-increasing blush, he finds that he doesn’t care. “Y-yeah, sure.” And he’s warm because Lionel’s voice had broken too.

Now, Merrill had seen a Playboy before and he had enjoyed it immensely. He had never had any types of thoughts towards another boy though, and he shivered as he thought about eternal damnation. He tried to pray, but his thoughts kept getting distracted and his knees hurt from kneeling on the wood for so long. He kept thinking about Lionel. About how his hair would feel in Merrill’s fingers, how his smile would look if Merrill was the one who caused it, how good his painted fingers would look wrapped around Merrill’s-

“Merrill.” And he jumps, he knows his cheeks are red and he probably looks like he just stole off the collection plate, but despite it all, he rushes to the door and catches his big brother in a hug. Graham hugs him back tightly before pushing him back and raking his eyes over. The concern in his gaze made Merrill feel warm, the drunk bastard asleep in the living room never seemed to care about his youngest son ( _only if he had done something wrong_ ), but his brother always had his back despite the age difference. Graham must have approved what he saw, so he invited Merrill to dinner with himself and Colleen.

He personally thought that his brother was punching up with Colleen. The Hess family had some good-looking men, but Colleen’s smile would light up the darkest night. Plus, she was one of the nicest people Merrill had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She always had a kind word for everyone, made an excellent preschool teacher, and cooked some fantastic spaghetti. Graham and Colleen’s house was small and cozy, it might have felt cramped if they weren’t all family. Colleen also got Graham to lighten up; before her, he never would have poured Merrill even a half glass of wine, but Colleen suggested it since she couldn’t have hers.

“Whadyamean?” He asked, wincing as Graham elbowed his side. He swallowed down his food, “What do you mean?” His brother grinned at him, “We’re gonna have a baby!” And _oh_ , oh! There was indeed a lot of celebrating that night. Later, when it was just the two of them and Graham was taking him back to the farm, Merrill worked up the courage to ask,

“What do you do when you doubt your faith?” Graham hummed to show that he heard the question, but continued driving for a bit, the moonlight making his face look even more serious. Merrill waited patiently, used to his brother’s strange way ( _Merrill, what’s the point in saying whatever first pops into your head? Think about your words and people will always know you mean what you say_ ). They pulled into the drive and Merrill’s leg began bouncing. He wasn’t nervous perse, but his older brother always made him a little nervous when they would talk faith. Graham was just a very intense person, which makes sense considering his decision to become a priest, but it could be intimidating.

“I think that you should question why you’re doubting your faith.” Graham turns an eye to him, seeing if he’ll offer anything up. With no answer after a few seconds, Graham sighs and continues, “faith is always a test. There will always be struggles and hardships in your life, but if you look out for God, He’ll look out for you. Stop worrying little brother, things have a way of working out.”

And that speech did resonate, but his hormones made a mess of things again. He dreamt of black fingernails on his skin and Lionel’s breath in his ear. He woke up with his sheets wet ( _and it would happen again_ ). Merrill wasn’t sure if he had ever felt more like a sinner than he did in the early morning, washing his sheets before the drunk stopped snoring. Even so, when Lionel showed up at his house the next night around ten, Merrill still let him in. Still snuck him past the man in the living room watching a blaring television. Still held his hands gently, as Merrill carefully rubbed polish remover over Lionel’s nails.

“What color should we do?” And Merrill hadn’t realized how raspy Lionel’s voice was, especially for a 9th grader. “I liked the black, but what do you have?” Merrill was finding it very hard to look into Lionel’s eyes when they spoke back-and-forth, so he tried to keep his eyes on the nails. Lionel hummed and got up, retrieving his backpack from the floor before sitting back on Merrill’s bed, their thighs now touching as Lionel explored his options. Merrill quickly grabbed his pillow and plopped it onto his lap, hugging it close like he just needed to hold something. Lionel nattered on about nail colors for a few moments until he finally decided on a bright blue. “I think the funniest thing about nail polish is all their names,” Lionel continued his earlier conversation, not realizing Merrill was just now tuning back in, “like this blue is called ‘Til the Cows Come Home.”

Merrill took the bottle, taking in the bright blue before trying to make eye contact again. “The black was more subtle, but this is pretty. Are you sure you want this shade?” And yes, some of the nervousness comes from the comments he had heard at school today ( _angry and disgusting comments mostly, almost nothing clever, except Jacob Hanks who had asked everyone what they would call a bundle of sticks before pointing towards Lionel_ ), but a lot of his nervousness was how people would see _him_ . Is he a queer just because he hangs out with one? Is Lionel even… gay ( _Merrill wonders what the right way to say it is; would you say homosexual or is that insulting_ )?

“Afraid I’m going to get my ass kicked?”

“Yes.”

There’s silence for a moment, but Merrill takes the opportunity to begin his paint job. His hands are steady and he uses his thumbnail anytime he makes a mistake. Lionel is quiet, mostly, apart from the songs he keeps humming. Merrill doesn’t mind the tune though, and before he even knows it, each nail is painted. Lionel inspects the handiwork and gives him a satisfied smile.

“I only wish we had waited until after I had a piss. I’ll ruin my nails if I unzip my jeans.” 

_And there’s panic, because is that a hint? Are gays so promiscuous that this is normal behavior? What should he say?_

“Are you gay?” _Well, probably not that_ . Merrill can feel his face going red, just as Lionel’s does the same. He watches the flush crawl up from his neck and wonders if he’s blushing _everywhere_ . Merrill snaps his eyes back to his lap, still covered by the pillow ( _and for good reason,_ he thinks, _especially if that wasn’t a come-on_ ).

“I-,” and he probably shouldn’t find a voice crack arousing, but he’s pretty sure his dick has completely detached from his brain, “I, don’t know?” And Lionel’s voice is quiet, but he meets Merrill’s gaze steadily enough. “Are you?”

He probably should have expected that question, but he didn’t. So, he considers how he _knows_ in his heart of hearts, that he likes women. But, then Merrill takes a long look at Lionel, starting with his slightly greasy hair and ending in his muddy combat boots, and he tells the truth.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t mind kissing you.”

And so they do.

***

Merrill and Lionel keep up a strictly low-key friendship; no talking at school and no hanging out outside one of their houses. They both agree, no matter how great the company is, life is easier when Merrill is a jock and Lionel is a burnout. Merrill keeps the other jocks off Lionel’s back and Lionel keeps any strange gossip from getting out. And on the weekends, they explore each other, both mentally and physically. And things probably would have continued along that vein, but Merrill miscalculated how much his old man had to drink one night.

They were both 17, well past the point where they were only kissing ( _well past the point of admitting their love, not to each other, but to themselves_ ). Luckily, they hadn’t progressed past both of them shirtless and Lionel in Merrill’s lap, when the door busted open. In a movie, the freeze frame that followed would have been comical instead of terrifying. With a roar of rage, his father grabbed Lionel by the hair and threw him off of Merrill. He advanced on Lionel, swinging back his foot to kick ribs, when Merrill tackled his father to the ground.

“Go home,” he shouted to Lionel’s retreating back. At 25, Merrill would be a strong and intimidating figure who could beat an alien to death, but at 17, he was quickly thrown on the ground by his father and his body and face would carry the bruises and breaks for a few months. Later that night, after his father had gone to bed and left him on the living room floor with a mop and an order to scrub his blood from the floors, Merrill dragged himself to the phone.

“Hess residence, Graham speaking.” And it shouldn’t be funny, but it was almost 4 in the morning and Graham sounded like a perky receptionist. He laughed, but it quickly choked off into a sob. “Merrill?” And he tried to talk, but the fucking bastard had smashed his face in pretty good ( _maybe if you weren’t such a fucking pretty boy, these fucking fags wouldn't be sniffing around_ ). “Are you at home?” The yes gets caught in his throat and he wonders if the blood he’s tasting is from the hamburger meat that used to be his face or from his raw-from-screaming throat. “I’ll be there Merrill.” And he relaxes and hangs up, laying himself down on the floor by the phone, knowing that he’s alright to close his eyes because when he opens them, his brother will be there.

***

Colleen tells Merrill what happened when he wakes up in the hospital. It’s just her and baby Morgan. “Graham’s moving all our stuff over to the farm. We’ll be moving in and your dad will be moving out. Graham was furious.” She cuts herself off, but as Merrill wakes up and his brain gets a little more active, he’s able to get the story out of her.

Graham had found him passed out on the floor, bleeding heavily and unable to answer questions. When he had woken up their father, the old man had brought his hands up automatically. When Graham saw the bloody knuckles, he apparently saw red. Apparently, Graham beat their old man half to death and threw him out of the house. They had an uncle down in Baltimore who Graham suggested ( _ordered_ ) their father stay with. Dear old dad had threatened to get the police involved, but Graham threw the phone at him and suggested he tell them what he had done to his son too.

So, when Merrill got back, mostly healed except his ribs and his new lip scar, it was to an entirely different house. Yeah, the foundations were the same and so was the furniture, but Graham, Colleen, and Morgan made the house a home. They moved his stuff into the guest house so that he could have his own private area ( _when Graham had laid down the rule “no girls,” he did not appreciate Merrill’s response of “yes, dad”_ ) away from their toddler and his penchant for breaking into his room and messing with his stuff.

He had been nervous, the first time Lionel had come back over. He shouldn’t have been though. Lionel had hugged him for over 20 minutes ( _they both pretended not to notice the other crying_ ) before he even looked back at his face. His thumb, painted green today, gently traced the still-healing tissue. “Scars are sexy, y’know.” And with a kiss, things were back to normal.

***

As normal as a secret relationship could be anyway. They would have made it through senior year and been fine had they stuck to their careful rules, but no one was supposed to be in the locker room that Friday. Merrill had put on a pretty good strip show before getting into the shower, leaving Lionel to get undressed after he finished up the last bits of his homework. Instead, some of his teammates came in, fresh from some unofficial catching practice to catch Lionel with a hand down his pants as he watched Merrill shower through the cracks of the curtain. By the time Merrill made it out of the shower and pulled on some shorts, they had already thrown Lionel up against the lockers.

“What’s going on?” And Merrill’s voice was steady, so he thanked God, trying to get some good points to carry over to the rest of the situation. And it has to be Jacob Hanks, one of the only smart jocks in their high school, who had caught them. Hanks who was far too smart to fall for the lie that Lionel had simply been adjusting himself.

“This fucking faggot was watching you shower, bro.”

“Nah, Lionel’s cool, he wouldn’t do that.” _Believe me, believe me, believe me._

“Then why was your hand in your jeans, homo?” Merrill catches Lionel’s eye and silently pleads for him to play this cool, to not be deliberately antagonizing.

“Well, I guess I got distracted thinking about your dad.” Merrill closes his eyes as he hears Jacob’s fist connect with Lionel’s face.

“Hess, we gotta teach him a lesson.”

“I think my brother would be upset. Know how awkward church is if you piss off the guy in charge?” _Please, please, please don't make me do this._

“What? Think you’ll be too rough with your boyfriend?” And there’s an edge there in Jacob’s voice, an unspoken threat that wraps its hands around Merrill’s heart and pulls it into the bottom of his stomach.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” And his eyes snap open to look at Jacob, whose forearm is holding Lionel steady to some lockers. He looks at Lionel, face full of defiant anger. And he makes a choice.

***

Randa McKinney had nice legs. They were long and tan and settled near him. He was drunk. Had been drinking since he got to the party. Had been drinking to forget what he had _done_ . So, Randa McKinney. She has nice tits too. They’re hanging out of the v-neck she had decided to wear and her perfume still smelt like flowers, even if it was muddled with the scent of cheap tequila. He sort of wanted to kiss Randa. Sort of. Her laugh was annoying and her nails were bitten to the beds, but she leaned close to him on the couch and she was a _she_ . And he’s going to go in, but he forgot about the gum he had put in. _Mint settles an upset stomach,_ he had thought, but perhaps he should have told Randa. Her vomiting on herself shouldn’t have been funny, but Lionel would have laughed. He would have laughed and said something cutting, but true. And Merrill is pretty drunk, but he still knows the way to the Prichard house by heart.

Lionel doesn’t look happy opening his window; he had a black eye and his lip was split. “Come to kick my ass again?”

“Maybe kiss it better?” Merrill didn’t realize Lionel’s eyes could turn so cold, so fast. “Too soon, I get it. I wanted to apologize.”

Lionel raised an eyebrow, “For punching me several times? Or letting your friends also punch me several times?”

“The last time someone caught me with a guy, I almost died, so excuse me for being a little touchy about it.”

“I’ll excuse you when you tell me how this ends. Do we graduate and never talk again? We gonna move in together? Or are you ashamed of me?”

“Are you not? Do you like that we’re like this? We would never be able to get married or have kids, not to mention my fucking brother will probably kick me out. Of course, I’m fucking ashamed. I wish I was normal!” And that’s all true, but it’s not a complete thought. The complete thought goes something like this: _I’m scared all the time that someone’s going to take an issue with one of us and they’re gonna kill us. I want a normal life, marriage and kids. I’ve seen you with Morgan and you’d be an amazing dad, but the entire fucking world is against us. I’m in love with you, but I’ve never told you because that makes it too real._

Lionel only hears what was said. “I’ve _never_ been ashamed of you until today.” And with a deafening slam, the window is shut and the curtains are drawn.

Merrill cries his eyes out at home until the sun peeks above the horizon and casts golden rays across his bed. He eventually falls asleep in exhaustion and when he wakes, he pushes every feeling he’s ever had for Lionel Prichard deep down inside himself, until he can pretend to forget that they’re there.

***

Graham was his rock, but Colleen was who he went to when he needed advice. It had been years since Lionel and this is one of Merrill’s first visits back home after playing in the minor-leagues. He was moping really, bringing down the mood of the whole house, until Colleen forced him onto a walk.

It was fall in Doylestown and the leaves are beautiful. He had travelled pretty intensely throughout the States, but nothing beat walking around Doylestown in the fall. Colleen and Merrill walked silently for a bit, comfortable in each other’s quiet company, but Colleen finally broke the ice.

“Tell me about it Merrill, before you drive yourself crazy.”

So he told her all about his successes and his failures playing baseball. His epic highs and his lowest lows. How he couldn’t differentiate between a strike and a hit until he had already started to swing. And Colleen just listened, nodding along and humming at certain parts, but otherwise just letting the words spill from his lips like vomit. When he’s done, it’s almost sunset. He’s embarrassed suddenly, because he’s a man and he’s been complaining like a bitch since early this afternoon. “Sorry Colleen, that was a lot. Ignore me.”

Colleen links her arm with his and shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous sweetheart. And don’t stop swinging either. You might strike out a lot, but when they connect you can see the crowd start believing in magic.” And it shouldn’t be that simple, but Colleen can make anything seem simple; she really makes ya believe that every problem on earth can be fixed.

So, when he runs into Lionel Prichard over his next break at Aldo’s, he goes over. Though, not even Colleen Hess could fix how awkward he feels.

“Hey.” And Lionel is startled and turns, not expecting anyone to greet him, and _especially_ not expecting Merrill to greet him.

“Uh.. hey?” There’s hesitation, yes, but so far there’s no hostility; Merrill will take the win.

“How have you been?” 

And then their chat turns quite easy. Lionel lives with the Wolfington brothers on the other side of town, he works from home doing editing work, and he’s working on a novel. His nails are cut, but not polished, and his hair is clean, but otherwise, Lionel hasn’t changed much at all. Luckily for Merrill, that means he says yes when asked to go get a drink.

There are two bars in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. There’s the sports bar that caters to families and older men, then there’s a more modern bar and club that caters to ‘young folk’ like the owner calls them. They choose the sports bar because of their happy hour, which they take full advantage of. They get drunker and drunker, despite it being the late afternoon, until finally ( _finally_ ) the friendly conversation shifts.

“So, you still only fuck boys on the sly?” 

And Lionel had no right to suck his straw that suggestively after asking that, but he did it anyway. And Merrill pretends that his cheeks are red from the alcohol and that his pants are tight because he’s bloated from beer, but he keeps his gaze steady as he answers.

“I, uh, haven’t actually. Few girls, but uh, no one else.” And he drops his gaze, even though that’s not something to be ashamed of. There’s nothing wrong with not having sex with men you’re attracted to, but his face is hot and he doesn’t look up when Lionel giggles.

“Still so deep in the closet. I’m the town troublemaker and the town queer and all you’ve done is become the town’s sports star.” And it’s a joke and he knows Lionel meant it well-natured, but it twinges just a bit, like a hangnail caught on a fuzzy sweater.

“You shouldn’t call yourself that.”

“Only like it when it comes out of your mouth?” _God, why was he only attracted to really mean men? Women were easy, they just had to be kind and hot, but he compared every man he’s ever been slightly attracted to, to the one in front of him._

“I’ve never called you that.”

“No, you just hit me and let your friends call me that.”

“I apologized. And they weren’t my friends. Besides,” Merrill cracks a smile, “you were totally right about Jacob Hanks.” Suddenly, the argument is tossed aside.

“Spill.”

“Grad party. Everyone else had sort of passed out and I was about to go back to the farm, but he wanted a cig and I wanted a cig, so we went outside. I was literally in the middle of a cigarette and he tried to stick his tongue down my throat. He cried when I told him no. Last I hear, he’s living it up in Philly with his girlfriend.” Lionel throws his head back and laughs and every single feeling Merrill had ever had for him comes rushing back up.

“Do you want to get outta here?” _Impulse control, still not a lesson learned_.

A considering hum. “Are we gonna fuck?”

“I, uh, do you want to?” And Lionel looks at him.

He tries to imagine what he sees: strong jaw from his grandpa, crooked nose from a baseball, the permanent split in his lip from daddy dearest? Despite it all, he tries to play it confident. He meets Lionel’s gaze as steady as he can, even if he never thought his face could be this warm, and grins, hoping that his so-called “crooked” smile still has an effect on his old lover.

There’s a flush on Lionel’s neck and Merrill knows he’s won before he says it.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

***

They’re on each other, as soon as he gets his door shut behind him. One of Lionel’s hands is in his hair, pulling his head back as the other man’s tongue slides up his neck, the other snaking up his shirt towards his nipples. And Merrill’s groan is loud enough to take them both off guard, but he had missed this. Had missed how calloused hands felt on his skin, had missed someone else taking control, had missed _Lionel_ really.

They made their way to his bedroom, pulling off their clothes as they went. Merrill let himself be pushed backwards onto his bed, but he pulled Lionel down on top of him, surprising a laugh out of him.

“Impatient are we?” And, _fuck_ , he suddenly was.

Merrill flipped them over easily, planting a hand on Lionel’s chest so he couldn’t flip them back. He let his gaze roam over his body, noticing a small tattoo near his left hip bone. He leaned in closer, tracing over the lettering with his thumb and drawing out a small sigh from Lionel.

“Did you really get the word ‘anarchy’ tattooed on your body because of your obsession with the Sex Pistols?”

“Are you ignoring my fucking dick right now?”

But in this little game they play, Lionel had just made a grave error. Something he seemed to realize as Merrill smirked at him, suddenly very happy with his position.

“Yes to both then. Do you want me to do something about this,” he asked, gesturing towards Lionel's dick. Now, the answer is obviously: yes, you fucking sadist, but to admit that is to lose.

“I mean, you’re down there already. Eventually you’ll just end up doing it.”

Merrill wrapped a hand around Lionel’s cock, but didn’t move it, and he used his other arm to hold down Lionel’s hips, so even if he tried to thrust, he wouldn’t get the friction he was craving.

“I don’t know Li, I sort of want to slobber all over your dick and balls, but I also want to make you beg me to do it. What do you think?”

And they’re both smiling, because this is a familiar game, played a long time ago. And they’re wrapped up in fondness and caught up in memories, not to mention they’re both drunk, which is probably why neither of them had heard the door to the guest house open and close. They both heard the gasp though.

Merrill whipped his head around and stared in terror at Colleen who had dropped her laundry basket in surprise. She had covered her eyes with her hands and was currently babbling out apologies, but Merrill couldn’t hear them over the rushing sound in his ears. This is why he didn’t fucking do this. It seemed like every time something was going right with Lionel, God sent out a reminder that his sins would see him burning in Hell. He hurriedly pulled on some shorts and shut his bedroom door on the way out, gently pushing Colleen away from the door so he could shut it.

“Please don’t tell Graham.” Outside of the situation she had just walked in on, Merrill didn’t consider himself a beggar. He didn’t even realize he was on his knees until he heard Colleen gasp again. “Please Colleen.”

Arms wrap around him. “Oh sweetheart, you poor thing. Is this… and I apologize, if this question is too personal, but is this what caused your father to act in the way he did?” There are tears on his cheeks and he nods. “Oh honey, no. Graham would never do that to you.” And now he’s sobbing and he thinks Colleen is crying too, but he doesn’t lift his head from her shoulder to ask.

After a bit, after they’ve both calmed down and washed their faces, Merrill and Colleen end back up on the floor, this time facing each other. Colleen is the first to break the fragile silence.

“So, is this boy the only boy?” And he blushes, because yes, but no.

“I.. um,” and he’s awkward, so he turns to what he does know. “I guess I’m like a bat.” Colleen blinks, but she nods at him to continue. “Like, I _swing_ both ways.” He brings his knees up to his chin and tries not to look at her face.

“Okay… Does your friend want to come to dinner?” And his eyes snap up to look at her, checking her expression. Seeing no judgement, only the kindness that Colleen Hess is known for, he shrugs.

“I think he’ll only come if he gets to be introduced as… more than my friend?” And it sounds dumb out loud, because Lionel at this moment really was only his friend. It still felt wrong to classify him like that though, not when his dick was almost in his mouth earlier.

But, Colleen takes that in stride and nods. “Then we need to tell Graham, don’t we?” And he’s trying not to tear up again, but all he remembers is lying on the ground and bleeding, but who would take him to the hospital if it was Graham that had put him there?

But, he _trusts_ Colleen.

“Will you do it?” And she giggles, just a bit, just enough for him to notice and look at her funny.

“You just sounded so young. It’s like when you wanted ice cream, but would have me ask because Graham doesn’t say no when I ask.” And he smiles too.

“I’m gonna start some laundry, then I’m gonna take a walk before dinner. When I get back, we’ll figure out how to tell Graham, okay?” And he’s across the floor in an instance, hugging her tightly. “I love you, you know.”

“Oh sweetheart, Merrill, of course I know. I love you too.”

When he goes back into his bedroom, he didn’t expect to see Lionel sleeping on his bed. He gazes at him, allowed a more leisurely look now. He still didn’t have a lot of body hair, but the hair on his head was a little longer. It fell across a face that was subtly growing some five’o’clock shadow. He was skinnier now then as a teenager, his hip bones poking prominently up, not that Merrill minded the deep ‘v’ shape they gave his abdomen. Merrill had sobered up plenty with his conversation with Colleen, but he figured he could play the drunk card still if Lionel was upset about being woken up with a blowjob.

A few moments pass. “I told you. You got down there eventually.” And they laugh. When they’re done, they get dressed and just hang out until Graham gets home later that night.

***

At the funeral, Merrill contemplates how Hell could ever be worse than this. Lionel comes, but he stands in the back. When Merrill walks past him, he doesn’t spare him a glance. He’s gotten the signal from above loud and clear.

***

The next time he sees Lionel is in the Army office. Lionel, being himself, managed to twinge a nerve. So, Merrill acted out. He never would have actually hit him ( _he had learnt that lesson a long time ago_ ), but he did feel satisfied seeing him flinch. Or, he did for a bit, until he walked out. Then, he felt guilt. And shame. Because who was he to try and make someone flinch? He catches a glance at someone who might possibly resemble his old man and he’ll break out in a sweat. _Is this how it’s going to be forever? We avoid each other until we can’t, then snipe at each other until we’re both hurt?_ He contemplates closure and wonders if it’s an illusion.

***

Graham had been much better at inspiration speeches when Colleen was alive. Merrill feels her loss like an ache. When Graham goes to bed, he immerses himself in watching what’s going on, in being prepared, but his mind wanders to her last words. “Swing away.” Did she just mean baseball? He promises himself ( _and her_ ), then and there, that if he and everyone in the family survives, he’ll swing away on whatever. Life’s too short not to ( _he recognizes his own hypocrisy when he doesn’t call up Lionel, even before the phones went down_ ).

***

Against all odds, a miracle; they were all alive. Terrified, dirty, hungry, but alive. Merrill clutches Bo to his chest, needing to ground himself with someone just as Graham did the same with Morgan. And Merrill doesn’t really want to say anything, but he did promise, and honestly, Graham killing him would be a much better way to go out than alien invader. He cleared his throat and gently set Bo down, though he kept a hand on her head as the Hess family looked to him.

“First, I love you guys.” And there’s a cheer, small and a little breathy, but there and Merrill takes a moment to thank God for Morgan’s life. “Thanks bud. I, uh, have to tell you guys something, now that I know the world isn’t gonna end.” And Bo squeezes one of his hands and smiles up at him, Morgan stares at him steadily, and Graham meets his gaze carefully. “I, uh. I actually told your mom this guys. She, uh,” and he’s tearing up a bit, but he tries to ignore it, “she was going to help me figure out how to tell all of you.” And there’s confusion and concern on all of their faces, so he sends up one final prayer and blurts out the truth. “I like other men. Uh, I like women too, but uh, y’know people don’t care about that part. I call it _swinging_ both ways, like a bat. Uh, I don’t know the official terminology.” And it’s not so much of a blurt as it is a ramble, but it ends when Graham carefully sets Morgan on the ground and stands up. Merrill exhales out of his mouth and stands up straight; if he’s gonna get hit, he’ll take it like a man.

But, he doesn’t. He gets hugged; first by Graham, then followed shortly by the kids. And there are definitely tears streaming down his face, but everyone is kind enough to not point it out. “Swing away Merrill.” And his older brother is smiling at him and, maybe things were gonna be okay.

They pack up anything the community might find valuable to take to the church. “Graham, could you drop me off somewhere first?” He agrees.

There is devastation throughout Doylestown. Many inhabitants were lucky; the aliens hadn’t realized they were home and had skipped over their house. The others, well, the Hess family was very lucky.

As they pulled up to Lionel and the Wolfington brothers’ house, Graham grimaced. “Please do not tell me I was dumb enough not to realize you and Lionel were dating.” And despite the grim mood hanging over the town, and therefore the car, everyone giggled or laughed. “I would never tell you that bro,” he lets it hang for a moment, “but only because we never officially called it dating.” Merrill is nervous, a bit, but their house looks intact. Morgan hands him an extra baseball bat they had found, just in case. He gets out of the car, but leans back into the window. “I’ll be at the church tonight before the streetlights come on, or very soon after.” Graham nods, “If you’re not there by 9, I’m coming back here.”

Merrill appreciates the support as he heads to the door and knocks. He gives the car a thumbs-up as he hears multiple locks being unchained. He hears them drive away as Lionel stares shocked into his face. His fingernails are painted black. Merrill thanks God for the sign.

“I first realized I liked boys in the 9th grade when I ran into you in the hallway and your nails were painted. I fell in love with you when we were 15 and I made you laugh so hard you peed. I’ve been scared for most of my life, to be who I am, but I literally killed an alien today, so coming over and asking you on a date seemed a little less intimidating. Um, so, if you’re free, I would love to take you out sometime.” And yeah, he probably should have led in by asking how Lionel’s household had fared in their own personal war of worlds, but he suddenly had arms wrapped around him and lips on his, so he’ll take it ( _especially when those painted hands lead him inside to “this will not count as our first date, but we almost died”_ ).

Later, as he curled onto Lionel's chest, he sent a thank you to God for his multitude of miracles ( _and maybe one to Colleen: a miracle herself, even in death_ ).


End file.
